Long Bernard Poems
Long Bernard Poems. Below are the most popular long Bernard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bernard poems by poem length and keyword.
You were a talented British actor but sadly, not anymore.
If you hadn't died, today you would've turned ninety-four.
You starred in an episode of "Fawlty Towers" and "Dalziel and Pascoe".
Forty-four years ago, you starred in "The Adventures Of Picasso".
You starred in an episode of "Last Of The Summer Wine".
You starred in an episode of "Mogul" and "Space: 1999".
You starred in a short lived British sitcom titled "Cuffy".
After living a long life, you died at the age of ninety-three.
When you starred in Fawlty Towers, you beat up John Cleese.
Today would have been your birthday, may you Rest In Peace.
[Dedicated to Bernard Cribbins (1928-2022) who died on July 27, 2022]
If each day is filled with
darkness,
And if the joy is hidden by grief,
Would we still choose to go on
taking every step?
And would we insist to extend
the dying tread?
If in each stumble there's a
helping hand that makes us rise
anew,
And if in every slip there's
someone who treats our painful
bleeding wound,
And if there's someone who
aligns our injured hopes,
Would we ever choose to give
up?
Or would we still long for
strength to stay alive?
If in our every cry there's a pair of
eyes staring at us,
The eyes that seemingly say:
"How can we be able to
overcome the giant mountains of
troubles, if our guide is shaky
and unstable too? "
We sure would choose to wipe
the tears being blown by the
wind, right?
To long again for the blessing
better than us.
Translated by Bernard F.
Asuncion from Gigi Endraca's
Ang pagpapalang higit kaysa atin
If you have not read my earlier ones, please check out the first in the series and see if you like the story. It will help this make more sense.
Ricky slowly sauntered up the stairs, as you know most little boys don't like going to bed. When Ricky got to his room I noticed the Bunk Bed against the wall and a dresser on an adjacent wall. Why I knew what these things were is beyond me, perhaps it is a part of hearing Ricky's mind. Ricky walked over to the window and placed me on the sill. This was great because it was a clear night and I could see the twinkling stars in the black velvet sky. The street itself was dark except for a few lights in other windows and an occasional car driving by.
I turned my attention to the room, Ricky's brother Roy climbed a ladder to the top bunk and Ricky got into the lower bunk. I could tell Ricky was scared about what was under the bed. I have to admit I felt much safer being over here on the window sill. If it had not been for the giant stuffed St. Bernard that he took to bed with him, who knows what those monsters might have done to him. His companion's name was Bully and I could tell they had been friends a long time. As Ricky was begining to sleep I felt this falling sensation and he jerked awake. I can't express how that scared me, I thought I was falling and that would not be good, after all I am made of glass. Thankfully a few minutes later Ricky was fast asleep and I drifted along with him. It had been a very good day. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....
If you are enjoying this tale let me know and I will continue on with it. Thanks for reading it.
Sonnet: The Ruins of Balaclava
by Adam Mickiewicz (1798-1855)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, barren Crimean land, these dreary shades
of castles?once your indisputable pride?
are now where ghostly owls and lizards hide
as blackguards arm themselves for nightly raids.
Carved into marble, regal boasts were made!
Brave words on burnished armor, gilt-applied!
Now shattered splendors long since cast aside
beside the dead here also brokenly laid.
The ancient Greeks set shimmering marble here.
The Romans drove wild Mongol hordes to flight.
The Mussulman prayed eastward, day and night.
Now owls and dark-winged vultures watch and leer
as strange black banners, flapping overhead,
mark where the past piles high its nameless dead.
Adam Bernard Mickiewicz (1798-1855) is widely regarded as Poland’s greatest poet and as the national poet of Poland, Lithuania and Belarus. He was also a dramatist, essayist, publicist, translator, professor and political activist. As a principal figure in Polish Romanticism, Mickiewicz has been compared to Byron and Goethe. Keywords/Tags: Mickiewicz, Poland, Polish, Balaclava, Crimea, war, warfare, castle, castles, knight, knights, armor, Greeks, Rome, Romans, Mongols, Mussulman, Muslims, death, destruction, ruin, ruins, romantic, romanticism, sonnet, depression, sorrow, grave, violence
My heart beats with vibration,
When you start to talk,
Each and every spoken word
I earnestly discern the meaning,
I want to think that it's the truth,
But the lie shouts so loud,
In your deceitful body language,
The sadness that I persistently fight
Seems eager to slave me, why does it not go away?
In this context,
He's the only one who comforts me when I am left alone,
Listening although I'm confused,
The night that I can't sleep,
He's my only soul mate,
And never naps even in a moment,
Once, I have asked him,
Is it possible to snooze on the edge of death?
He replies immediately:
"My heart will bleed if you will be gone,
The day will turn into night,
If you're not here by my side".
One promise I have made,
Even though the moon and the sun become one,
I will stay alive,
As long as you are there.
??
Translated by Bernard F. Asuncion from Gigi Endraca's Pangako
After All These Tears
By Bernard F. Asuncion
The night begins to fade away,
disappearing into the dark;
The dusk vanishes into gray,
as the twilight starts to depart.
The raindrops now refuse to fall,
heeding not the rugged weather;
The black clouds never hear the call
of the storm brewing in the air.
The dawn savors the morning dew,
enjoying the beauty around;
The flowers show the sparkling hue
that springs from the productive ground.
The sun signals the shining light,
bringing warmth to the heart and mind;
The rays energize with their might,
as the lost strength is there to find.
The sky above aims to repel
the throes, the sorrow, and the pain;
For the world to be sound and well
because of the relief to gain.
FUNERALS
I’ve been to four cremations,
Just since the start of the year.
And we haven’t even reached August yet,
So some more may occur by the New Year
For we’re all getting more and more ancient
Of course we must expect it,
Nearing the end of our time.
In history no-one’s cheated death yet
The great certainty of this life is death
But nevertheless l miss some of them.
Last week, it was Bernard Jones,
Who I’d known since we were kids.
We made a bet way back in our twenties
About which one would outlive the other.
I’ve won the bet but he has the last laugh.
How could I claim my winnings?
He’s come out on top once more.
So as one by one they’ve all shuffled off;
I’ve done my duty and paid my respects.
But they’ll not be grateful to me for though
I’ve been to all their send-offs,
None of them will come to mine!
Date 19th September 2018
homemade chicken noodle soup and a grilled lipton burger
sixites latin music bumping out of the speakers and your booty just a-shakin'
no cares in the moment and unconditional love floating all around
you steal a kiss and a light slap on my butt
i shake my head as you laugh like mad at me actually blushing
i grab you a water and myself some blue cream soda
we take our reverie to the new deck your brother built for us and admire the view
old sookie the saint bernard finds the energy to come and beg for our food
he is drooling banana peel brain style and you toss him something
now it is my turn to guffaw and shake my head
we begin to converse as old sookie finds his lazy bone again and falls asleep between our deck chairs
you take my hand
i blush again
you say 'you need to quit'
now i steal a kiss from you
you deepen the kiss
FOOD FULLY DIGESTED!
the rest we will leave to the obvious part of somebody's imagination
i will just say dessert was wonderful and perfect....
Tonight the sky that once
became a blackboard of my
dream gradually loves the dark.
The vast black heaven in the
night of sorrow is the haven of
the twinkling stars.
But their brightness is
diminishing.
They somehow make my heart
happy
For I am made to think that they
give succor to me
They grieve over my reproach.
On this similar hour of the past I
held her hand
As my lips gently touched her
forehead.
On this same time too
I warmly hugged her
And she responded with a sweet
smile at me.
Sweet moments of how I really
loved her are boxed in my
memory.
Someone already owns her,
Like her heart that has
previously forgotten, I will also
disremember our love.
Tonight I see the starry sky,
The sound of waves that crash
onto the shore is forlorn
And the wind of the night has
indisposition.
Enough to feel the final pain she
had given me
And the last love song I offered
to her.
Translated by Bernard F.
Asuncion from Jez Rico Cuenta's
HULING KUNDIMAN
My skin and hair will never fall off, because the paint will always hold us together.
Paint is perpetually on my nails, under my nails, on my toes, and on my nose.
My good clothes are often my accidental paint clothes.
I have more paint clothes than I have other clothes.
Because I keep forgetting what I am wearing, and when I want to paint, I paint.
I am a sloppy painter, putting my elbows and knees into paint, smearing the canvases,
Dumping over paint jars. Imagine a Saint Bernard trying to paint, that is me.
In the morning I am not sure if I do not use the mirror, or if I do not notice, but
When I get to work, people start cleaning me up. They apologize as they rub glitter off my cheeks,
And a streak of red or green paint off my cheek. They put my tags in, because they are always
Sticking up too. My whole staff dresses me, finding stuff I would have never seen, because I
Truthfully do not care. Dressing used to be important to me. I am not sure when that changed,
Maybe, when I started getting paint on everything I own.